


5 Times Steve in Uniform Blows Tony's Mind

by MusicalLuna



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Awkwardness, Five Times, Fluff, M/M, Military Uniforms, Romance, flustered!tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:59:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1748741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalLuna/pseuds/MusicalLuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title says it all really. Steve wears his uniform and Tony gets flustered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> For [crypdusa](http://tmblr.co/m8jLSaGfJyW9EUIMRSxHNlw) for being magnificent and generous and asflksdhgls;akd.
> 
> I liked it a whole bunch on a reread so I'm tidying it up and reposting.

i.   The first time, it’s like something out of a romcom.  
  
Tony looks up, and there Steve is, standing at the top of a staircase. A light overhead makes his hair look like spun gold, carefully combed into place, curling softly at the ends.  
  
He looks around the room, sets his jaw, and pulls his military cap on, tilted at a jaunty angle.  
  
Tony feels his mouth go dry.  
  
He stares as Steve starts down the stairs. The perfect, straight lines of the uniform make him look even taller, even more elegant. His shoulders are endless, tapering down in the most graceful vee Tony’s ever seen. The jacket sits right at his hips, narrowing right into the clean fall of his slacks and the sight of it makes Tony’s stomach curl and curl, and curl, just behind his belly button.  
  
Steve steps down onto the main floor, shoes shined so they gleam in the light of the chandeliers. Tony watches his hand clench into a fist and realizes: he’s nervous.  
  
Then Steve looks over and catches Tony’s eye.  
  
Tony jolts, champagne splashing over his fingers. He jerks, the glass slips from his hand and shatters at his feet. “Fuck!”  
  
"Tony!" he hears and his head snaps up, and there’s Steve, looking so goddamned concerned and _so_ goddamned gorgeous it, literally, actually, in reality takes his breath away.  
  
Steve looks around at the mess around his feet, hands held out as if to stop him from moving. “What happened? Are you okay?”  
  
Tony is gawking, he can feel himself gawking, staring open-mouthed at the way the olive makes Steve's pale, rosy skin look.   
  
"Tony?" Steve says, concerned.  
  
"Hi—you—what?"  
  
Oh, god, what the hell happened to his mouth?  
  
Steve's brow creases even deeper. “Are you okay?” His Adam's apple shifts behind the shirt secured around his throat as he talks and Tony’s brain shorts out.  
  
"Huh?" he says.  
  
The look on Steve's face shifts from concerned to suspicious, his eyes narrowing. Tony feels a hot blush seep across his cheeks.  
  
"You’re fine!" he blurts and is immediately horrified by the lack of finesse in the line what is _wrong_ with him the uniform is _killing his brain cells._  
  
And Steve is realizing it. Tony can see the gears turning behind his eyes—they’re so goddamn _blue_ it’s unreal—and that’s terrifying.  
  
Steve takes him by the arm, drawing him out of the way as some of the waitstaff materialize to clean up the mess.  
  
He reaches for the cap on his head and Tony can feel him watching his face and there’s _still_ nothing he can do about the way his mouth slides open as Steve tucks the hat under his arm.  
  
"Huh," Steve says thoughtfully and smiles.

A small, strangled noise escapes Tony’s throat.  
  
He is so screwed.

 


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of spoilery for Captain America: The Winter Soldier?

ii. Steve is being presented with a purple heart for what he did in DC.  
  
It’s long fucking overdue. The dipsticks making up their government may have taken their sweet time realizing just how many asses Steve saved, but they’ve come around. Tony himself is insanely grateful Steve prevented _yet more_ of his tech being soaked in innocent blood.  
  
Anyway, _technically,_ Tony wasn’t invited.  
  
Tony’s never paid much heed to technicalities.  
  
Bruce and Natasha and Clint are there, Bruce looking as nervous as ever, Natasha and Clint attached at the hip.  
  
From the slightly hunted way Clint looks around at the rest of the crowd, Tony guesses he’s still trying to come to grips with what happened.  
  
It’s been over a year since New York and it looks like Clint’s having as much trouble processing as he did.  
  
Which sucks.  
  
That part of saving the world never gets talked about and it really, really sucks.  
  
"Cute tie," Clint says, staring at Tony’s throat and Tony reaches up to tweak the knot, smirking—it looks like Iron Man. He knows it’s awesome.  
  
"Thanks, Legs," he replies and taps his fingers on the arc reactor. These three shouldn’t make him nervous, but they do. He wants them to like him, so sue him. He’s trying to think of something witty to say when he hears footsteps at his back.  
  
"Hi, guys," Steve says breathlessly, "sorry I’m late, the secret service fellas had to double-check my ID because apparently I don’t look like I was born in 1917."  
  
Tony turns, a quip about Steve needing to stop dying his hair and own his age half-formed in his mouth alongside a cocktail weenie.  
  
But he lays eyes on Steve, decked out in full military regalia and sucks in a startled breath at how _insanely good-looking_ he is—how the hell had his brain forgotten about this—and starts choking.  
  
"Whoa, Tony!"  
  
Steve reaches for him and Tony wheels back because there’s no way in hell he’s going to cough up half-masticated weenie on _that_ uniform.  
  
Natasha catches him around the waist and jerks a fist sharply up against the base of his ribcage.  
  
The weenie shoots out of his mouth and he gasps and coughs and Clint mutters, “Ew, gross.”  
  
"Tony, are you all right?" Steve asks, sounding gratifyingly worried.  
  
"Yeah, sure, great," Tony wheezes and makes the mistake of looking up at him again. "F-fuck," he breathes. He looks so _goddamned good_ with his tie perfect and his shirt pressed and his goddamned badges polished.  
  
Steve’s mouth curls up, his expression turning smug as can be. “You should be more careful,” he says.  
  
"Oh, _no,”_ Natasha cuts in, her nose wrinkled. “Steve, no!”  
  
Steve blinks and says, a tidge defensively, “What? I thought you’d be happy!”  
  
"No, come on, _you know what I meant!_ What about Sam? Sam’s a nice guy!”  
  
Steve huffs and crosses his arms, which makes Tony choke on his own tongue. He has an idea what they’re talking about and he’s…  
  
Oddly hopeful.


	3. Part III

iii. **TONY 20:19**  
where are you?  
  
  
 **CAP 20:23**  
office  
  
 **CAP 20:24**  
Paperwork these days is nuts.  
  
  
  
Steve’s office is on the one floor of the Tower where Tony used to allow S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Since the dissolution, it’s been converted to offices, one of which Steve had (obviously) claimed.  
  
Tony knocks on the doorjamb and pushes the cracked-open door with his hip. “Hey, Cap, what’re y—ou dooo-ing."  
  
He stops dead, fist still hanging in mid-air, mouth open.  
  
Steve is sitting behind a sturdy dark wood desk the fingers of one hand in his hair, resting his head on the heel of his palm.  
  
He’s wearing his uniform.  
  
Or part of it anyway. the cap is sitting on the corner of his desk and his jacket is missing, which would be a tragedy except he’s rolled his sleeves up past his elbows and loosened his tie.  
  
He straightens abruptly, a rosy blush flooding across his cheeks. “Tony!” he staggers to his feet, jerking his tie back into place like he’s been caught doing something disgraceful.  
  
Tony’s eyes drop, along with his jaw, as Steve reveals that his uniform shirt’s untucked. _Fuck,_ the rumpled look really works for him.  
  
Steve follows his gaze and blushes even more vividly, scrambling to stuff it back into his pants.  
  
Tony crams a knuckle into his mouth to stifle the whimper bubbling in his throat.  
  
"Ah—hi, Tony—I, uh, wasn’t expecting anyone," Steve says breathlessly. He swipes a hand over his hair, eyes skittering around the room.  
  
"You— _stop_ —fuck—you’re _killing_ me, Steve,” Tony croaks.  
  
Steve stops mid-tuck and looks at Tony, really looks at him. His hands sink back down to his sides.  
  
Tony stares, breath frozen in his chest.  
  
Then Steve lifts one hand, very slowly, and loosens his tie again. He starts to move around the desk and Tony swallows hard.  
  
"Tony."  
  
He makes a small, thin noise, fingers clenching in a fist.  
  
He can’t move as Steve walks toward him, unhurried, eyes dark and hooded, gleaming in the low light from the green-shaded lamp on his desk.  
  
"Tony," Steve repeats when he’s just an arm’s length away.  
  
"Uh—uh huh?" Tony breathes. god, Steve’s eyelashes are _insane._ He’s wearing his heeled shoes and still it feels like Steve towers over him.  
  
Steve reaches out, watching Tony’s face carefully, and curls his fingers around the tip of Tony’s tie.  
  
"You like my uniform," he says and moves a little closer. Tony stares at the way the shirt strains around his biceps.  
  
After a moment, what Steve’s said registers over his brain blaring _PROXIMITY ALERT PROXIMITY ALERT_ and he stutters, “Wh-what? No. I mean. well—yeah, who wouldn’t, _look_ at you, Jesus.”  
  
"What about me?" he asks and Tony stares at him, at his mouth as he says the words.  
  
"Yes!" he blurts and then, realizing what he’s said, horrified, yelps, "I mean! I do—like you, I mean, because obviously—"  
  
"No," Steve says slowly, "not obviously. It’s obvious you like how I look, but do you like _me?_ ”  
  
Tony flounders, mouth working wordlessly for a minute because _what,_ no, seriously, _what?_  
  
” _O_ _f course I do,_ " he finally says, heated.  
  
Steve looks at him and then, like a flower blooming, a smile curls his mouth and then grows and grows until he’s beaming at Tony.  
  
Whatever’s left of Tony’s brain dribbles out his ears.  
  
Then Steve kisses him.


	4. Part V

iv. The uniform becomes tragically rare once Steve “retires” from the army and becomes the Avengers full-time leader.

Not that Tony is in any way wanting for eye-candy, since Steve is smoking hot 6000% of the time, but there’s nothing quite like the uniform.

He tries to convince Steve a few times to put it on just for him, but Steve always finds a way to distract him without giving him an answer.

He’s pretty much given up hope by the time the Avengers, Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy throw him a party for his forty-fourth birthday.

This is the soberest he’s ever been on his birthday and to his surprise, he’s actually enjoying himself. Thor’s got him laughing so hard there are tears in the corners of his eyes.

When he finally catches his breath, he takes a sip of the scotch he’s been nursing for the better part of an hour and two seconds later it goes dribbling down his chin, his mouth dropping open as Steve walks through the doorway _in his uniform_.

Tony hadn’t even realized he was _gone_.

Steve’s eyes are dark and lidded, his mouth curled into a smirk. “Happy birthday, Tony,” he says, voice husky, and a shiver shimmies right down Tony’s spine to his groin.

He wipes clumsily at his chin, refusing to blink because what if he’s hallucinating, that would be _horrible_.

“Man, could you be anymore cliché?” he dimly hears Rhodey complain.

He turns his face toward his best friend, but can’t drag his eyes away from Steve. “Do you have _eyes?_ ” he retorts.

“Well, this portion of the party is over,” Barton says.

Heat sparks up the back of Tony’s neck. “Hell yeah it is. All of you, get out.”

A straw hits him in the side of the head, but Tony is way too busy staring at the soft color on Steve’s cheeks to bother trying to identify who threw it. Steve _knew_. he came out wearing that, _knowing_ what it does to Tony, and _knowing_ that their friends were all here. he did it _on purpose_.

“Fuck,” Tony whispers.

“Is that a request?” Steve asks, blue eyes twinkling.

“Please, wait until we’re gone,” Bruce begs.

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” Tony breathes.

Steve leans in to kiss him and Tony suddenly realizes— “NO WAIT.”

The expression of surprise on Steve’s face is priceless. “What’s wrong?” he says.

“If we pop the hood, all this goes away,” Tony says, gesturing to the uniform.

Steve tilts his head. “That’s the idea.”

Tony shakes his head and then earns himself another expression of pure shock when he plants his hands on Steve’s chest and pushes him back. “Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Steve says incredulously.

Tony sets his jaw. “If this is a limited time special engagement, I’m gonna get my fill first.”

Steve’s mouth falls open. Tony looks around, finds his glass. He holds it out. “Get me another. Please,” he adds, hastily.

Steve takes the glass, more out of automatic response than anything else if his face is anything to go by. “I— all right,” he says finally.

Tony watches avidly, and his gait is—off—as he walks to the bar, and it’s a testament to how distracted Tony is by the way the uniform hugs his body, that he doesn’t realize _why_ right away.

Then Steve squirms and Tony blurts, “Oh my god, you’re hard, aren’t you?”

The scarlet that floods Steve’s face answers for him.

Tony covers his mouth.

This is going to be in the top, like, _four_ hardest things he’s ever done.

Steve bends over to get nothing, nothing, _that son of a bitch_ , that dirty fucking fighter, and okay, fine, maybe he’s had his fill of looking.

 


	5. Part V

v. If they have to choose someone to walk down the aisle when they get married, it will only lead to bad things.

If it’s Tony, people will say it confirms that Steve has “tamed” him, which is such a crock of shit, he can’t even, and offends him on multiple levels, both in his own defense and in Steve’s.

If it’s Steve, people will say it confirms that Tony has corrupted him and brainwashed him, which is so fucking absurd Tony can’t even be offended by it.

Either way, the media spends way too much time trying to pin down one of them as “the girl” and he refuses to give them anymore ammo.

So they’re having the wedding in central park and Pepper helped him set things up so there are two aisles in a V-shape that lead to the “altar”.

Paper screens have been set up on either side at the back to keep them from seeing each other and Tony’s pretty sure he’s never been this nervous in his life.

Because he’s a masochist, Steve had insisted they spend the night in two of the guest rooms to make the marriage bed more special or whatever. Point is, he hasn’t seen Steve in over three days thanks to an emergency mission in the Baltics and the separate bedrooms edict and it’s making him _insane_.

Sheer panic had nearly driven him to break down Steve’s door.

They’re about to get _married_ for god’s sake, he wants to make sure they’re still good. He wants to see Steve’s face and remind himself that this is something he wants.

“Breathe, Tony,” Rhodey says and pokes him in the forehead.

“I am breathing, babydoll,” Tony retorts, but it comes out a little breathless. He gulps down a lungful of air, enough that they press uncomfortably into the arc reactor, and taps at the casing. It’s unyielding against his fingertips and reassuring.

“Yeah, sure you are,” Rhodey drawls.

The weather’s beautiful, or it would be, if Tony weren’t wearing a black suit and sweating nervously like a teenager at prom. His tie is a subtle red, white, and blue striped pattern, because even at his wedding he can’t help himself. Steve had refused to listen when he started talking about what style he wanted, going so far as to literally plug his ears with his fingers like a two-year-old. He’d also steadfastly shut down any and all of Tony’s attempts to figure out what he’d be wearing. If they're both wearing red, white, and blue ties, so be it.

The smell of the freshly cut grass is overwhelming most of the less-appealing scents that are normally present in Central Park and Tony can hear the guests murmuring on the other side of the screen and he is going to lose it if this shit doesn’t get started soon.

As soon as that thought crosses his mind, the quartet back beneath the trees starts playing Pachelbel.

Tony’s throat closes up.

Then Pepper slips her arm through his, smiles, and pushes his hand down to his side. She takes a breath, waiting until he mimics her, and then blows it out slowly. “He’s already stuck with you this long,” she says and Tony huffs.

Then she says, “Step.”

And they walk out from behind the screen. Tony glances quickly at their feet to make sure they’re lined up and then lets Pepper’s rhythm guide him.

He looks up to find Steve, heart pounding at the back of the arc reactor case and throbbing at the base of his throat; he finds him over the heads of their guests.

The ability to breathe escapes him entirely.

Steve looks incredible.

Tall and straight and perfect in his dress uniform, blue eyes fixed on Tony, smiling fit to break his face. The closer they get to one another, the shinier his eyes look, until Tony realizes like a blow to the stomach that those are tears.

The second he realizes what he’s seeing, his own traitorous eyes prick with tears, too.

Pepper stops and Tony jerks back, a hot blush spreading across the bridge of his nose. Steve chuckles, a choked, affectionate sound.

“Who offers this man today to be wed?”

“I do,” Pepper says. Jesus Christ, she’s red around the eyes, too.

“And who offers this man today to be wed?”

“I do,” Natasha says, dry-eyed, damn her.

They each get a kiss on the cheek, and then the two women retreat. Steve looks at him and Tony feels like he’s going to shake apart, burst like a firework, maybe.

Steve reaches over, lacing their fingers together, and Tony squeezes his hand tight. He blinks away the blur of moisture and breathes out slowly, drinking in the sight of Steve.

Yeah, okay. He can do this.

  
  



End file.
